Cause and Consequence
by Harutemu
Summary: On a night out, attempting to forget a bad case of unrequited love by drowning his sorrow in the bottom of a bottle, Ryou learns first hand that things never go quite the way they happen to be planned.[BR, slight MR]


Cause and Consequence

**Warning: **Love between two men (later chapters), mention of alcohol use, slight Ryou torture, and if you blink you'll miss the allusion to sex between characters.

**Disclaimer:** I'm not making any money off this, and if I owned Yu-Gi-Oh! I would've explored Touzoku Ou Bakura's past more thoroughly in the manga, and I would have changed at least half a dozen things about the anime.

**Summery: **In a night out, attempting to forget a bad case of unrequited love by drowning his sorrow in the bottom of a bottle, Ryou learns first hand that things never go quite the way they're planned.

Many thanks to MoonCrow, Sglily, Sugarcoated Sunshine, Snake89, and T-Chan.

I would have never come this far in writing without you all.

The desert sun beat down on his battered body and the wind only brought waves of dry, heated air to roll over him. Sand and grit followed after, stinging his eyes, clogging his mouth and nose and causing small fires of agony to race up the open wounds on his back. He was the one crawling through this burning sea of sand and yet he was apart from it. He was an apathetic god staring down at the struggling form on the earth. A part of it yet sealed away from it. The only thing that was real was the harsh golden light of the sun and maybe the distant throbbing that mimicked the wind's rolling waves, the throbbing that was just beyond awareness…

"Oh shit…" Agony, hell, murder! Someone was hammering a railroad spike into his skull! God, strange dreams or not, it definitely wasn't worth getting up, a conclusion the young man came to quickly after waking. So much of him hurt, or just felt flat out _bad_ that he couldn't pinpoint any one place. Wait a second; that was most assuredly his stomach! Gasping for breath and fighting back the urge to heave, Ryou sat there shuddering as his insides lurched madly about. And his head! Dear God above, how he wished he would just die! Anything to stop the agony.

Choking at the pain, yet struggling to get past it, he took a cautious deep breath then slowly exhaled. There, he could do this! Breath, just breath. Repeating the exercise once again, then a third time until he no longer did so by conscience thought, a bedraggled, hung-over Ryou slowly pealed his fingers away from where they had automatically flown to his face when confronted with the light. Wincing and stifling another curse, he took inventory of his aching body and then his surroundings. It was probably best to start from top to bottom in regards to himself.

His brain hurt. The inside of his skull throbbed and his invisible attacker continued to whack away with the railroad spike with seemingly increasing enthusiasm. And the moment he made the mistake of shaking his head in hope of clearing it, Ryou could swear that he could feel his much abused gray-matter sloshing around upstairs. His eyes, the bleary windows to his soul, blinked rapidly attempting to stave off the intruding sun and rid him of the dry, grittiness they had acquired even while sleeping. The muscles in his neck and shoulders could easily be likened to rope strung so beyond capacity that they were about to snap, they were so tight, and his stomach! Dear God, it was still writhing and squirming, though thankfully not as badly as it had. And what the hell had he done to cause his lower back to throb in time with his skull and his inner thighs to ache? Shifting around in physical discomfort and wincing, trying to assess the extent of the damage to his body, but finding no real answers, he turned his attention to the room around him.

It wasn't his for one thing. Where worn, gray with age carpeting should have been, lay a polished, golden brown wood floor. The strange floor was covered only by a few articles of clothing and a vividly colored rug with what might have been ethnic designs peering out at the sides of the large plush bed in which he sat, instead of his stiff twin-sized mattress. The fluttering almost gauzy white curtains pulled his tired gaze up to the open window, where his tightly closed shutters should have been. He squinted angrily at the intruding sun, which beamed maliciously back into his eyes. A thought started nudging at the back of Ryou's mind so he paused in his survey, but when nothing was forthcoming from the undefined thought he continued his comparison. What should have been the stark white, unadorned walls of his cramped room were large, warm, yellow walls covered with pictures of people and a couple posters with motorcycles on them.

The sight of the posters stirred something in the fog that obscured his memory… They held some significance, he was sure of that! If only the persistently nagging thought would go away, maybe then he could figure it out. Ryou's eyes drifted to bedside table to his right where he noticed another motorcycle picture, this one framed… Or was that a magazine clipping? Before he could puzzle things out further his ears were assaulted by a hideous, repetitive screech from his left, but before he could act, what happened next froze him in place more firmly then ice.

The blankets next to him _moved_.

They not only moved, shifting, almost contorting _right next to him,_ but then they slowly sprouted a hand which was followed by an arm and then a shoulder which was attached to a graceful and strong body. The body, darker then anything produced at the tanning salon, snarled in response to the hellish shrieking. Ryou stared in mounting horror as the body brushed familiar sand colored hair from it's face while silently cursing and bringing it's fist down on a near-by alarm clock, silencing it and bringing an end to Ryou's auditory hell. Something he would've appreciated much more if he hadn't suddenly been focused on his violently rebelling stomach caused in part by the slowly dawning realization of the situation unraveling before him. Glaring blurrily around, the body's lavender eyes stopped suddenly when landing on him, where they blinked rapidly as if trying to dispel his image. Confused, disbelieving, eyes caught his own, and squinted, eyebrows slowly tilting at the perplexing and unexpected sight before them.

"Ryou?" Came the dry, croaking voice from the bed sprouted others throat. This time it was his heart that leapt up to his mouth instead of his stomach.

"Is that you?" And suddenly a switch was thrown and one of Ryou's most primitive reactions jumped into the pilot's seat. In this case flight.

Giving off a girly squeal that nearly matched the alarm-clock's in pitch, Ryou leapt forward, resulting in him coming crashing to the cold hard floor in a tangled heap of bare limbs and blankets. No, this wasn't happening, this couldn't be happening! Head spinning and pained body screaming at his sudden and ungraceful departure of the bed, Ryou twisted over and scrambled to the nearby clothing. Oh God, he was still dreaming, he had to be, this wasn't real! After grabbing the necessities, he bolted out the door, attempting to put as much distance between himself and the now shocked eyes that followed his bare ass out the door, while attempting to cover said ass at the same time.

Losing his balance and careening into a hallway wall, he half stumbled down a vaguely familiar set of stairs. A particularly zealous tug to his pants nearly sent him tripping and falling the rest of the way down afore mentioned stairs as he fought to pull his unruly jeans over his thighs. He had to get away; this had to be a dream! Making it down in relatively one piece, Ryou dashed to where he hoped lay the living room, which he vaguely recalled being near the front door. Arriving there, he tore the door open only to be met by the sun which instantly seared what felt like a burning hole into his head. It was just a dream, it was just a dream… dear God, it hurt too much to be a dream! Stifling a cry of pain, Ryou raised his arm in a futile attempt to ward off the light and continued onwards as fast as he could. Hobbling, and bumping repeatedly into the walls and fences he followed in hope of reaching home, he did everything in his power to put as much distance between him and both the realization of what he fervently prayed hadn't really happen, and the physical situation.

It took Ryou's frantic, scattered, pounding mind more then a few minutes to realize that he was going in the exact opposite direction of his apartment complex, and by then he'd stumble more then a couple blocks away. Winded, feeling sicker then he could ever remember, Ryou took a large shuddering sigh before starting over and backtracking. He feebly made his way over to the other side of the street where he paused to catch his breath again, wishing he had the energy to perhaps go even another block over to avoid the street where his problems all started. Glowering at the hateful street as he approached it, and the house in turn as he walked across from it, Ryou chanced a look at the top window. It was so surreal, it couldn't really have happened. Really. A sudden tug on the window's curtains that had nothing to do with the breeze snapped him back to reality and caused him to tear his eyes from the house and break into a desperate run.

He actually made it half-way home before his next stop. By then, the horror induced adrenaline, the only thing that kept him going besides his own fumes, ran out. And everything Ryou had struggled to escape, caught up. The unusual pain that started as a dull throbbing up his spine and had continued to grow as he ran decided to forcibly remind Ryou of it's existence, bringing him to his knee's and from there, everything else dog piled him.

The valiant fight against his stomach was over and as it surged forward, up through his throat to victory, Ryou could only brace himself against a nearby wall. The young man could barely think past how miserable he was, and how desperately he wished _someone_ else was with him. He wished there was _someone_ there to hold him up as wave after violent wave of vomit poured from his burning throat, down the shirt he wore and the wall, so that he at least wouldn't be kneeling in the growing puddle of filth. He wished that _someone _was there to pull the trailing ends of his hair from his face and offer him something to wipe his face with, so that they wouldn't be covered in his stomach's vengeful juices like they were now. And most of all, Ryou wished desperately that _someone _had been with him last night, smacking his hand away from the vodka in their own gruff way, and dragging him home when things had started to get out of hand.

Ryou sat there in a stupor, drawing laboring breaths of air to fill his protesting lungs. He took one last deep breath to hopefully fortify himself before weakly clambering to his feet. Shivering as the wind blew over his now soggy shirt, he pulled the soiled garment off and proceeded to wipe his face, chest, and pants as clean as possible with the relatively vomit free back before belatedly noticing it wasn't even his own shirt. Blinking dazedly before returning to his task, he wondered why he wasn't getting upset about it… Truthfully he felt distant, peaceful even, despite the utterly wretched state of his body. Wadding the befouled top up as small as possible, Ryou jammed it into a pocket and turned to hobble slowly on his way, when he noticed a stranger standing to the side, just staring at him.

The stranger, a man about fifty with a short salt and pepper beard and a worn, brown trench coat that enfolded his form, shifted nervously and cleared his throat when he noticed his stare being returned. "Eh, excuse me son, but are you alright?"

Was he okay? Ryou took a moment to reassess his current condition. His head still pounded as his nemesis, the sun, sent a continuous blinding lance of light through his sensitive eyes. Emptying his stomach's contents had done little to help him, if any thing he felt as though he had been rung dry by a giant pair of hands and coincidently his poor throat still burned as well… And his spine, no, his entire lower body felt like it had been used as a trampoline. Was he really okay?

Opening his mouth to speak, he was stopped just as suddenly when a strange, croaking noise, one that could easily be associated with a dying animal, emerged from his tormented throat. Clearing his throat, coughing, then quelling the desire to spit in the hope of clearing his mouth of its more then lingering aftertaste, he tried again.

"Yes, I'm fine, thank you." Ryou rasped in reply to the stranger's question. Apparently he wasn't very convincing if the older male's expression was anything to go by. However the man didn't push further.

"Well if you're sure… Try getting some rest though." The stranger advised as he shifted nervously once more, taking in the bare-chest, the ridiculously long hair, the blood shot, droopy eyes, and the soiled pants of the youth before him. He opened his beard framed mouth once more, but closed it before anything else came out and shook his head. He had fulfilled his obligation as a concerned citizen; the boy would live and perhaps also learn the value of moderation from his current ordeal. Sparing the young fool a last, disapproving glance, he shook the dust literally and figuratively from his hands and went back on his way.

Blinking at the man's hasty exit, Ryou turned once again to resume on his way home, however he stopped short when he caught sight of his reflection in a nearby window. Staring, much the way the stranger first had at his doppelganger on the pane of glass, Ryou really couldn't find it in himself to blame the man for his less than graceful retreat. It was probably more than he would've been able to do if he had been confronted by himself in his current state. A glance around showed him that the passing pedestrians felt much the same way.

Sighing, Ryou cast a reluctant look down the bright, public sidewalk before his eyes were drawn back to the alleyway he had just exited. While this section of town may have been far more peaceful then others, it was never really a good idea in general to cut through alleys and take detours through back-ways. And yet, he still stood to the side of the busy walkway, debating doing just that. A particularly foul glance from a passing woman decided for him. He was already covered in enough filth as it was; he didn't need passing strangers adding more. And besides, even if there were thugs waiting to jump him from the blissfully dark shadows in the alley, there was very little more that they could do to him, which had not already been done.

The so-called shortcut may have been anything but that, but no thugs harassed Ryou on his way home, and neither did the sun. A block away from his apartment an exhausted Ryou left the cover of the alleys and returned to the sidewalk. This one thankfully was nearly as deserted as the alley he had left, so he was able to continue unmolested through the rest of his journey. Things were starting to go so well, so much so that he really should have been looking out for the next misfortune.

Where were his keys? What had started out as the calm patting down of his pockets soon transformed into the desperate search for his keys…Which he wasn't finding, the same with his wallet as well. Franticly Ryou tore the greatly soiled shirt from his last pocket, praying that the missing implement was really just at the bottom of it, or maybe even wrapped in the garment itself. Sadly his prayer was for nothing, for there was neither sight nor sound of keys from the shirt.

Letting the top fall to the floor with a dull, wet splat, Ryou closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and held it before letting it slowly out. Opening his eyes again, they fell on the shirt, before drifting upward to stare at something beyond the ceiling. Shaking his head, he turned to rest his back against the door, slowly dragging a heavy hand down his face.

It started as an odd, strange choking sound, that became a snicker, a giggle… Before everything that happened and what he felt, his confusion, disappointment, pain, and shock, everything, came boiling up much the way his stomach had earlier and burst from his mouth in loud, slightly hysterical laughter. Ryou brought his hands up to his gapping mouth in an effort to muffle his frenzied laughter. Not that it really mattered, by this time of the day everyone was somewhere else, whether at work, school, or out on the town. All the surrounding apartments were empty. Just like his own.

Even with that cruel thought ringing through his mind, Ryou continued to try and silence himself, as well as the rapid hitching developing in his breath. It was a failed endeavor however, and in the end he sat cackling on the floor, with his hands covering his face to hide the liquid shame trailing down his face, if from no one else then himself.

Eventually the hysteria and the tears subsided, and a heart-weary Ryou was left to pull himself temporarily together one more time before standing to his heavy feet before making his way around to the back of his apartment. He squeezed his way slowly, with difficulty, through the gap in his fence, hidden by the high, coarse, shrubbery into the dry square of packed dirt that he called his backyard.

Peering into the sliding glass door, even though he already knew what to expect, he checked to see if the lock had miraculously unlatched itself in his absence. It had not. Pressing his palms flat against the glass, Ryou gently tried to lift the door in hopes of jimmying the lock. The door didn't even creak. Slamming his fist against the deceptively sturdy and well constructed door, Ryou was about to give up on breaking into his apartment and leaving to wait by the manager's door until he returned in God knew how many hours to beg and grovel for the other man to let him into his own home when the familiar ringing of his phone reached his ears.

Eyes darting a few feet away to where he heard the sound, he was confronted with the near torturous sight of his bedroom window cracked open to let in the breeze… behind the wire mesh of the screen. Narrowing his eyes at the last obstacle between him and his bed, Ryou asked himself if he was really going to let a measly wire barrier stand between him and his goal.

No, he wouldn't. That was one indignity he refused to suffer. Besides, the screen had already fallen out on its own on more then one occasion; once more wasn't going to affect his lease.

Curling the ends of his fingers around the base of the screen, he attempted to pull it out that way, but to no affect. Ryou then looked instead for a sturdy stick or anything that he could really slip between the base and try to pry the stubborn screen from the window. When nothing came to sight, Ryou settled for breaking a small branch from the nearby shrub. Inserting the thicker end in, he started pressing down on the opposite end, and while the stick did bend, the screen came off with disconcerting ease. Making a note to himself to have the manager get a new screen, or at least have the current one soldered in, he pushed the window the rest of the way open, and struggled inside, desperately trying to ignore his bodies agonizing protest against being stretched and maneuvered through the small space.

Loosing his balance and nearly falling to the floor, Ryou straightened out and pulled himself the rest of the way in. Standing up, he carefully closed the window and latched it. He was actually in. He was surrounded by _his_ walls, carpet, and bed, in _his _house. Where he should be. Right, it was still to surreal to even try to deal with everything he was feeling. And he still hurt and felt exhausted, and now that he was holding still his impromptu "escape" was catching up with him. Shedding what little he still wore, he crawled into bed and buried himself under the covers. As he drifted off he imagined he heard the phone ring once again, but in the time it would've taken him to respond, Ryou had already fallen asleep.

Like it? Love it? Utterly despise it? Let me know how you feel about the story, it goes a long way to fueling my inspiration.


End file.
